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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003448">The Greywaren and Magician sitting in a tree</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativefiend19/pseuds/creativefiend19'>creativefiend19</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Whatever, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-The Raven King, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:15:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativefiend19/pseuds/creativefiend19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was only one solution.</p><p>The Greywaren and The Magician needed to ritually combine their powers, to help Cabeswater keep the real third sleeper imprisoned.</p><p>There was only one problem.</p><p>The Greywaren and The Magician couldn’t stand each other.</p><p>*</p><p>AKA: Enemies-to-whatever post-TRK AU, where nothing Pynch-y has happened. Yet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Greywaren and Magician sitting in a tree</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Forget about canon and enjoy the ride, basically.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They were safe. They were free. </p><p>Ronan was going to farm the Barns and Parrish was leaving for Harvard in the fall. </p><p>The Terrible Trio were going to take their gap-year road trip.</p><p>Happy fucking endings all around. </p><p>Or so they thought.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“What d’you mean, Cabeswater told Gwenllian the third sleeper’s waking up?”</p><p> </p><p>"I'm just telling you what the psychics said, Ronan,” sighed Blue, "Don't kill the messenger."</p><p> </p><p>Ronan took off his dreamt headphones and threw them across the Monmouth living room. Instead of killing the messenger, like he wanted to. </p><p> </p><p>Until very recently, he'd been bouncing a tennis ball off the floor and onto the opposite wall. Again. And again. And again. His EDM had almost drowned out the sounds of a protesting Gansey trying to read some Welsh doorstop. </p><p> </p><p>In other words, Ronan had been completely at peace - with himself and the world.</p><p> </p><p>He should've known it wouldn’t last.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck his life.</p><p> </p><p>Chainsaw squawked angrily as the phones snaked past her, missing the post office of Insomnia Town by a hair. </p><p> </p><p>It was proof of how upset Gansey was that it didn’t even register. </p><p> </p><p>“Run this by me again, Jane?” Gansey’s brow was crumpled above his wire-frames, his thumb pressed hard against his bottom lip.</p><p> </p><p>Blue repeated, “Cabeswater communicated with Gwenllian in a dream, about some...evil threatening it. My mom and the others scried and read the cards and realised that the actual third sleeper is waking up.”</p><p> </p><p>“But the third sleeper was the demon. It already woke up. I died so it could be defeated,” Gansey said.</p><p> </p><p>Ganseying in his perfectly Gansey voice. </p><p> </p><p>As if he was giving a talk at some goddamned conference. </p><p> </p><p>As if they all hadn’t been there when he’d fucking died. </p><p> </p><p>Not just died. Sacrificed himself - to save Ronan. And kill the demon </p><p> </p><p>Gansey really should be a politician. He said the most obvious shit like it was some newly discovered species of bull.</p><p> </p><p>And this was why Blue was so good for him. Though Ronan would rather be unmade than admit that out loud.</p><p> </p><p>She bopped him on the head with an opened packet of Twizzlers and said, ”We <em> know </em>, Mr. President. We were there. I killed you with my lips - on purpose - remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“It was worth it,” Gansey replied, like the poor whupped bastard that he was.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Blech. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There was a brief interlude, as Blue put her deadly lips to good use, and Gansey melted into a puddle of goo on the Monmouth floor.</p><p> </p><p>Ronan went back to bouncing his ball, aiming it as close to Blue as he could get away with.</p><p> </p><p><em> Why should he be the only one uncomfortable?</em> He smirked internally, putting his hand out to catch the ball on the rebound.</p><p> </p><p>Except it never returned. </p><p> </p><p>Blue had caught it. One-handed. While still kissing Gansey.</p><p> </p><p><em>Damn</em>. Not that Ronan was impressed or anything.</p><p> </p><p>But he was totally going to hassle Gansey about his shitty make out skills, if his girlfriend was able to catch random tennis balls mid-bounce and mid-kiss. </p><p> </p><p>Blue and Gansey finally unstuck. They looked like they were going to stick back together again, as soon as they weren't surrounded by tennis balls and Ronans and Chainsaws.</p><p> </p><p>“Blech,” said Ronan, out loud this time, “If you've finished sucking face, can we get back to more important things? Like the fact that the motherfucking demon may still be alive?”</p><p> </p><p>“They didn’t say the demon was alive,” Blue corrected, picking up her backpack.</p><p> </p><p>“Do your half-baked lot of psychics ever say anything that isn't vague-ass shit?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ronan,” said Gansey, predictably. </p><p> </p><p>“You can ask them yourself,” Blue said, throwing the ball over her shoulder so it almost smacked Ronan in the face, “The half-baked lot of psychics want you and Adam to meet them tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“They need to speak to The Greywaren and The Magician. Together. You need to pick him up from Boyd’s.”</p><p> </p><p>“And why would I want to do something like that? Out of the kindness of my ever-loving heart?”</p><p> </p><p>“What heart?” Blue scoffed, “Anyway, his car broke down in school, Calla said. She told you to bring him home in time for dinner.”</p><p> </p><p>In response, Ronan viciously threw the tennis ball at the door, as it closed behind her and Gansey. It rebounded wildly, barely missing the windows.</p><p> </p><p>Great. Like this day didn’t already suck ass hard enough, after that piece of news.</p><p> </p><p>Now he had to go see Parrish’s smug face, and drive him around like some goddamned chauffeur service.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck his life.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“What d’you want?” Adam asked irritably, as he looked up from the car he was working on and saw Ronan standing at the entrance of the garage.</p><p> </p><p>For once, Ronan was at a loss. He had nothing mean or quippy prepped. What the fuck was he supposed to tell Adam exactly?  </p><p> </p><p>He watched as Adam wiped the grease off his fingers with an even greasier rag. God, what a mess.</p><p> </p><p>“I'd rather not be looking at your ugly mug at all if possible, Parrish,” he sneered, “But the psychics want to see us tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Us?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Us. Me and you. Together.”</p><p> </p><p>Adam ignored this and continued with his twenty-stupid-questions: “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>He walked up to the open shutters, squinting a little. The blue of his coveralls clashed horribly with his eyes. His dusty eyelashes were almost colourless in the winter light.</p><p> </p><p>Calling him Dirt Boy had been such a brilliant idea, Ronan smirked to himself. It was rude, and totally on brand for Ronan. Plus, Adam was oversensitive as hell about his dumb trailer park origin story, so that was a bonus.</p><p> </p><p>“‘Cos I'm the Greywaren and you, apparently, are the Magician.”</p><p> </p><p>“What d’you mean apparently?”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you even do a single magic trick?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you, Lynch. Do you know what tonight is about? 'Cos I have a test tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>“Some Cabeswater shit about the third sleeper,” Ronan shrugged, "Fucking psychics like to dramatise everything."</p><p> </p><p>“Cabeswater?” Adam had gone uncannily still.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, why? Have you ... heard anything?”</p><p> </p><p>But Ronan could tell that he had.</p><p> </p><p>What the fuck? Something sparked in his chest and he smothered it ruthlessly. It was all just smoke and mirrors and speculation. Cabeswater was gone. Ronan would’ve known in his heart, or in his dreams, if it was back.  </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing I want to talk to <em> you </em> about,” Adam had the look on his face he reserved just for him. The one that reminded Ronan that he was a high-school-dropout, while Adam was on the fast-track to Ivy-League success.</p><p> </p><p>Well, quid pro quo, shithead. Ronan was happy to escalate the judgment game anytime.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever, <em>Dirt Boy</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Ronan watched with unholy glee as the angry colour crept up Adam's long neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Keep your fucking secrets from me, but you’d better be willing to speak to your precious psychics about it. And hurry the fuck up. I’m not waiting for you forever.”</p><p> </p><p>Ronan turned and strolled back towards the BMW. He knew Adam was watching him, flushed and fuming. </p><p> </p><p>His day had definitely gotten better. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Adam slid into the passenger seat, shivering and dripping, shoes wet and hair damp. </p><p> </p><p>Ronan lowered the deafening volume on his electronica that was drowning out the deafening rain on the roof and asked, “What the fuck, Parrish? Haven’t you learnt to dress yourself properly yet? ”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought I’d have my car,” Adam's teeth chattered slightly. He put his trembling fingers on the hot air vents and let out a long, grateful moan. </p><p> </p><p>The car suddenly smelled of gasoline and rain and something else that Ronan couldn’t put a finger on. He clenched his jaw in irritation.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus. What about getting <em> to </em> your car? It’s been pissing it down for days. How the hell did you get into Harvard with that brain?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just shut up and drive, asshole,” Adam said, his accent tired and uncaring, as if Ronan was barely worth the effort of responding to. </p><p> </p><p>“This is the last time I let your wet ass ruin my seats, you fucking moron,” Ronan snarled, taking off with a ferocious spray of wet mud. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>They all sat around the Fox Way dining table, eating in silence. </p><p> </p><p>Henry was off skiing in Canada. The Grey Man was - somewhere else. Ronan wasn’t sure what a hitman did, after he became an <em> ex </em>-hitman. He suspected it wasn’t a issue many of them faced, given their profession. </p><p> </p><p>Jimi had taken on the pie-making responsibilities after Persephone had died. So, they were having crawfish pie. Which, despite the name, wasn’t half bad. </p><p> </p><p>Adam, sitting on Ronan’s left, thought so for sure. He couldn’t stop shovelling food into his mouth long enough to talk, so Ronan finally spoke up.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, we're here,” he scowled at Calla, who smirked back, “I’m assuming you wasted our time for a good reason?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s a good reason all right, Snake,” Calla murmured into her violently pink drink. </p><p> </p><p>Ronan could almost smell the alcohol from where he sat (which was always as far away from Calla as possible, just in case she managed to ‘accidentally’ touch him). He leaned back in his chair, and for good measure, rolled his eyes obnoxiously. </p><p> </p><p>Maura cleared her throat, as if to get back order in the room. </p><p> </p><p>“So, Cabeswater contacted Gwenllian in a dream the other night. It showed her that a great evil was rising,” Maura looked at each of them in turn, “We read the cards and scried and realised it was the third sleeper.”</p><p> </p><p>She put up a hand to stop Gansey, as he opened his mouth to make his predictably earnest-as-fuck observation.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, we all thought the demon was the third sleeper. But, apparently, it was only a harbinger. Or maybe a decoy,” Maura looked at Gwenllian here.</p><p> </p><p>Adam continued to eat, but his eyes followed everything. Only Parrish could manage to look both tired and alert at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, t’was not just the kings and lords who had tombs built to deceive,” Gwenllian said airily, as if it was no big deal. </p><p> </p><p>As if she dropped bombshells about ancient demons running fake-crypt cons every day. </p><p> </p><p>She leaned forward, picked up the Worcestershire sauce and dumped a disgusting amount into her drink. Ronan watched in fascinated horror as the pink turned darkly muddy. She drank it all in one go and smacked her lips obscenely. <em> Yuk. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Who is the third sleeper, then?” Adam grimaced, pushing his plate away without finishing his third helping of pie. He’d been watching Gwenllian too, apparently. </p><p> </p><p>“We don’t know. We just know it shouldn’t be woken,” Calla said, in an ironic tone.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. No shit, Sherlocks,” Ronan growled out, “We knew all this six fucking months ago. Do you have any actual news?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, we know why it’s waking up now,” Maura said.</p><p> </p><p>“And we might know how to slow it down, if not stop it,” Jimi added. She took a sip of her orange-coloured drink, and then hiccupped delicately. </p><p> </p><p>“Christ. Can you drop the mysterious act for one goddamned second and just tell us what the hell is going on?” Ronan bit out. He was strung tight enough to snap and rocked his chair back and forth with vicious energy.</p><p>  </p><p>Gansey threw him a look, turned to Maura and said with frankly uncalled-for politeness, “Maura. Please. We need to know.”</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, well, wasn’t that what Ronan had just said? But then, sucking up to his future mother-in-law was a predictably Dick move. </p><p> </p><p>“When Cabeswater … sacrificed itself,” Maura was carefully expressionless as she ignored the way Gansey stiffened, “it weakened the prison holding the actual third sleeper contained.”</p><p> </p><p>Blue took Gansey’s hand off the table and presumably onto her lap, to mess with.</p><p> </p><p>“So, Cabeswater is still - around?” Gansey’s whisper was equal parts guilty and hopeful. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, it definitely has enough consciousness to communicate with Gwen,” Maura said.</p><p> </p><p>“Bullshit,” Ronan brought his chair crashing back on all four legs, “If Cabeswater was back, I’d know it. I dreamt it up.”</p><p> </p><p>Calla said, “But you didn’t <em> make </em>Cabeswater, Snake. You just manifested it onto this plane. It was there before you, and it’ll be there after long you’re gone.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been...feeling it too,” Adam said quietly. </p><p> </p><p>So quietly that Ronan was the only one who heard him, at first. </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Ronan’s hands clenched into fists, as he turned to Adam. </p><p> </p><p>What the <em> fuck </em>? Did Cabeswater psychically contact everyone but him?</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Adam looked at his freckled fingers, still marked with traces of grease, “I’d been feeling - stuff - for a while. Like leaves and the smell of moss. But recently, it’s gone back to showing me things in mirrors.”</p><p> </p><p>“What has it been showing you?” Maura asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Why didn’t you say anything?” Gansey said, in the voice Adam hated. </p><p> </p><p>Adam glanced at Gansey but answered Maura, “Random things, like before I learnt to communicate with it. Images of people screaming. Black stuff oozing out of trees.” </p><p> </p><p>“Why didn’t you say anything?” </p><p> </p><p>This time it was Ronan who asked, leaning forward to catch Adam’s eye.</p><p> </p><p>“Because I wasn’t sure…,” Adam looked back at him, “I wasn’t sure if I just <em> wanted </em> to see it.”</p><p> </p><p>Ronan opened his mouth to say something, but lost his train of thought at the look on Adam's face.</p><p> </p><p>So, the whole time Ronan had been feeling the lack of Cabeswater in his life, Adam had been missing it too. </p><p> </p><p>Calla coughed, loud and theatrical. </p><p> </p><p>Adam and he jumped apart; Ronan hadn’t realised how close they'd been leaning.</p><p> </p><p>“As interesting as all this is…” Calla said, smirking at Ronan over the lip of her cocktail glass.</p><p> </p><p>Ronan folded his arms across his chest and scowled at her. </p><p> </p><p>“...we need to figure out how to help Cabeswater,” Maura finished hastily. </p><p> </p><p>Blue hadn’t said anything yet, since this was all old news to her probably. </p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t we ask Artemus?” she said now, her voice like her switchblade. She was looking at her mother.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, ‘cos he was <em> such </em> a help last time. Pfft.” Ronan couldn’t stand the guy.</p><p> </p><p>Blue glared at him and continued, “He might know where Cabeswater is, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’d need to find him first,” Maura sighed, “And I don’t think he wants to be found.”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter where Cabeswater is,” Orla said, speaking for the first time that evening, “It only matters how we can help. Or rather, how <em>you </em> can help.”</p><p> </p><p>She smirked at Ronan and raised an eyebrow, as if in challenge. </p><p> </p><p>Ronan had made it clear to Orla, several times, that he was not interested in any of her challenges. At all. But it never seemed to stop her. </p><p> </p><p>He was not used to people being more annoying than him.</p><p> </p><p>“Who’s <em> you </em>?” Adam asked, eyes narrowed. </p><p> </p><p>“She means you and me, runt,” Ronan rocked back in his chair and looked at all the psychics in turn, “Right? The Greywaren and The Magician. Together.”</p><p> </p><p>Orla took a sip of her beer and smiled even more widely. Like she knew something Ronan didn’t, and was going to have fun when he found out. Ronan didn't like that thought at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Jimi said, “Cabeswater will need your help to keep the third sleeper imprisoned.”</p><p> </p><p>“And how exactly do we do that?” Adam asked, his brow furrowed. Ronan could almost hear his brain whirring.</p><p> </p><p>Calla looked at them both, “You’ll need to help Cabeswater reinforce the prison. Give it support.  At least until we figure something else out.”</p><p> </p><p>Her tone made it clear that even if there <em>was</em> any other way out of this, they had no clue what it could be. </p><p> </p><p>Openly worried was not a look Ronan was used to seeing on Calla. A thrill of fear prickled down his spine. If <em> she </em> was this grim, the situation wasn't good. </p><p> </p><p>Ronan rocked his chair back and forth on two legs as he thought things out, a furious frown on his face.</p><p> </p><p>What could Adam and he do? How could they help? They hadn’t really done any <em>actual</em> magic together. They’d mostly just amplified his dream energy and communicated with Cabeswater.  </p><p> </p><p>“The Greywaren and Magician will have to ritually combine their powers, so Cabeswater can feed off of the structure they build, the harmonic they amplify,” Jimi said, in a deep, slow voice, as if reciting something.</p><p> </p><p>“Ritually combine their powers?” Gansey asked, “How?”</p><p> </p><p>“With a traditional hand-fasting,” Maura’s tone was matter-of-fact.</p><p> </p><p>Gansey's mouth formed an O. All the Fox Way women sipped their drinks as one.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s a hand-fasting?” Adam asked, as bewildered as Ronan - his accent made each word a yard long.</p><p> </p><p>“It means a wedding,” Blue said slowly, eyes wide, “You and Ronan have to get married.”</p><p> </p><p>The silence was stunned and disbelieving and endless. </p><p> </p><p>“To each other,” Calla clarified, helpfully.</p><p> </p><p>Orla spat out her beer.  </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading my shamelessly self-indulgent trope-fest. </p><p>Let me know what you thought. </p><p>A word, a line, Anon, non-English - any type of comment or <a href="https://creativefiend19.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> Ask is welcome. So is kudos!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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